


61 Across: Possibly Predestined

by firehawk05



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 07:05:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firehawk05/pseuds/firehawk05
Summary: Old cherik domesticity with crosswords over breakfast. Inspired by something posted to Discord.





	61 Across: Possibly Predestined

A delicious smell of sizzling bacon fills the air.  Erik gestures briefly and the frying slice floats towards the pan and pokes absentmindedly at the rashers.  In the background, tomatoes chop themselves while he gets on with cracking eggs for the omelette. 

 

As he pulls the whisk out of the drawer with the barest tendril of power, his gaze catches on yesterday’s paper lying on the countertop. The half completed crossword seems to mock him from where he’d thrown it down in frustration.

 

_ Dandy.  As in fine and dandy.  41 across.  _

 

“And a good morning to you too.”  Erik sighs, “You know I would have gotten that eventually.”

 

_ I already gave you a head start.  _ Charles murmurs into his mind as he rolls himself through the doorway, snags the loaf of bread from the bread box and heads determinedly for the toaster.  

 

The cord snakes upwards towards the socket of its own accord even as Charles pops two slices in. He then leans forwards to pull a pair of rather battered stoneware plates out of the cupboard below, before handing them to Erik, wordlessly. 

 

As the frying slice lifts the crispy rashers onto the plates, the egg mixture tips itself into the pan. Erik hovers at the sink, staring into the middle distance, trying to ignore Charles’ undisguised fascination at his use of power. Occasionally, he gestures absentmindedly and the eggs flip themselves in the pan.  A pen hovers in midair over the paper, spinning gently on its long axis, awaiting further instructions. 

 

After all these years, it's almost reflex, he doesn't even really think about how he does what he does anymore.  Suddenly, he frowns and glances back at the crossword… 

 

Spinal!  They exclaim together. 

 

Erik sighs and lets a hint of annoyance creep into his tone. “Charles.”

 

_ What. You were thinking very very very loudly.  _

 

The kettle starts to whistle, interrupting the moment. 

 

Charles clears his throat, “Would you be a dear…”

 

The kettle tips a stream of boiling water into their mugs and Charles sighs in pleasure as the scent of Earl Grey fills the air. Erik turns back to the eggs. 

 

Behind him, the toaster pops. There’s a scrabbling and a huffing as Charles picks the bread out gingerly. 

 

“You’d think after all these years I’d have evolved to handle hot toast…” Charles mutters, a rueful expression on his face. Something clicks in Erik’s head and a pen floats over to the crossword. 

 

35 down. Wry. 

 

_ While you’re at it. How about, Domestic. 10 down. Oh wait, my bad. Too many letters.  _ Charles pauses, remembering himself, before continuing aloud. “You can pass me the plates. I’ll bring them to the table.”

 

_ It’s just hard to not hear you when we’re this close.  _

 

Erik brushes a stray crumb off his partners’ dressing gown, before seating himself opposite. 

 

“It's not that I mind you in my head. I just wanted to actually do the crossword on my own. For once. Without all your helpful interruptions.”

 

Then he glances at the mugs before quirking an eyebrow at his partner. “Teabags? You’re slipping Charles. Maybe one day you’ll turn pleb like the rest of us.”

 

“Pleb?” Charles splutters, indignation warring with amusement. “Maybe all the crosswords have helped after all.”

 

“Well. I’ve had the unbelievable misfortune of having to listen to you expound your ridiculously optimistic theories for years now…” Erik mutters, smirking at him across the table while the pen pointedly fills in “pretentious” into the grid. 

 

The empty spaces still annoy him. Even though there are much fewer than before. 

 

“Maybe it’s fate.” Charles says flashing him a wrinkly grin, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. 

 

“Huh?”

 

“61 across. Fate.”


End file.
